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His mind was foggy and he was in more pain than he’d been in last night. How was that even possible?
Willow stood over him, her long dark hair tied back from her face, making him realize just how utterly beautiful she was. Her blue eyes showed worry and, yes, stubbornness.
Leaning up a little, he reached for the pills and water without another word. Then he watched her clean and switch out his bandages. Her teal-painted fingernails scraped his skin, sending shivers of awareness spiking over every nerve.
His fingers reached out and touched the tips of her hair, which almost brushed his elbow. “You used to be blonde.” His mind had been playing over the one image he’d seen of the two girls, years ago.
She frowned down at him. “How did...” She shook her head and went back to her task. “I’m sure my father showed you many pictures.”
He shook his in return. “Just the one.” He remembered seeing the two girls locked around their father in the happiest family moment he’d ever witnessed.
Her dark eyebrows shot up. “I’d like to hear more, but I think you need some additional rest. I’ll make you some tea.”
He made a face. He didn’t like tea. What he wanted was a strong shot of whiskey to get him back on his feet.
“You may not like tea, but you’ll drink at least a cup of it for me.” She moved away from the sofa, taking his dirty bandages with her. “I didn’t see signs of infection,” she said as she moved around the small kitchen. “That’s a good sign, but I’ll want to...” He must have zoned out while she continued to chat with herself as she prepared his tea. He woke when she shook his shoulders.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and tried to sit up. He stopped when he noticed that she was frowning down at him.
“You’ve been out for almost four hours.” Her hand went to his forehead where a cool washcloth covered his eyebrows. “I tried to wake you.” Her frown increased as she shook her head from side to side. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.” He noticed then that her hands shook when they removed the washcloth from his forehead.
Reaching out, he took her hands in his to steady them.
“Willa?” His voiced sounded so far away. His eyelids felt extra heavy. “Don’t be scared. I’m okay.” He reached up to run his fingers through her hair as he shut his eyes once more.
“No, you’re not. Your fever is getting worse.” He felt her cool hands on his face. He could tell she’d laid another cloth on his chest, but so far, all he could feel was the heat coming from the core of his body. “You need a hospital.” Her words made it past the fog in his brain. Opening his eyes, he took her hand in his and pulled her close until his eyes could focus on her face.
“You promised.” It came out as a growl.
“And I intend on keeping my promise. But—”
“No!” he barked out, stopping her next words.
“Caleb, I can’t sit back and watch you die.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need some rest.” His eyes slid close. He didn’t even realize she was still pressed fully against his chest. All he knew was that for the first time since he’d lain down on the small sofa, he was finally comfortable.
Willow was squished against Caleb’s heated skin, his fingers still tangled in her loose locks. Her hands were wedged between them, but for the first time in hours, he was breathing normally.
She’d made him soup instead of tea, but when she’d walked over to wake him up, he hadn’t budged. At all. She’d even shook him as hard as she dared, fearing she’d open his wound again.
But his dark lashes had stayed closed and his breathing had been labored. She’d paced, worried, and then covered his burning flesh with cool washcloths, which had seemed to help.
She hadn’t even realized how much she’d worn herself out worrying about him until she felt herself relax against his chest. Soon, her breathing matched his and she allowed her eyes to close for just a moment.
Her cell phone ringing jolted her awake a few minutes later. Untangling herself from his arms wasn’t an easy task. Finally, she rushed over to the table and answered her sister’s call with a whisper.
“Were you still asleep?” Wendy’s voice was drowned out in a sea of shouts.
“No,” she whispered and decided to move into the bedroom so she could talk normal.
“Then why are you whispering?” Wendy asked.
“I’m not,” she said as she shut her door and leaned back against it. “You’re just in a really loud bar.”
“True, the game is on.”
“Game?” Willow rubbed her forehead and thought about taking an aspirin herself.
“Yeah, remember? You, me, my fiancé and his family... Pizza, beer, game.” Wendy sighed. “You forgot.”
Then she remembered. “I’m sorry, I woke up sick.” She hated lying to her sister, but there was some truth behind it. Her head was starting to pound from all the worry.
“I’m sorry. Do you need me to stop by?”
“No!” She almost shouted it and then took a couple deep breaths. “I wouldn’t want to get you sick. Not with all the wedding planning you still have to do.”
Wendy chuckled. “The wedding isn’t for two months.”
“I’ll be okay. Really. I’m going to spend the weekend in, watching reruns.”
“Okay, but if you need anything...”
“Thanks. Have fun watching the game.”
There were some muffled noises, and then her sister came back on the phone. “Cole and his family say hi and hope you feel better.”
“Tell them thanks.” She sighed and closed her eyes as she shut her phone off.
There was a light knock on the door, causing her to jump.
“Everything okay?” Caleb asked from the other side of the door.
She swung the door open and looked up into his face. He was leaning against her door jam, still pale and half-naked, but his eyes actually looked clearer.
“Are you okay?” She leaned in and felt his forehead.
“Much better,” he said as she watched him sway a little.
She reached over and took his shoulders, making him walk back towards the sofa. He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes focused on his small bed area.
“I’ll sit anywhere but there. That thing is uncomfortable.” He rolled his shoulders slightly.
She nodded towards the kitchen table, and he followed her to sit down.
“I can heat some soup.”
“Sounds good.” He leaned back in the chair.
She busied herself heating a pan of chicken noodle soup and threw a loaf of French bread in the oven to heat up. When she sat down next to him, she realized she hadn’t eaten yet that day.
“This is good,” he said between bites. “Better than that stuff from last night.”
She nodded. “My neighbor brought it over earlier.” She took another bite. “Mrs. Kingston’s daughter died a few years ago. Since then, she’s doted on me.”
He finished his soup and bread and leaned back. “It’s strange, but I could use another shower and a nap.” He shook his head and she watched him roll his shoulders once more.
She tried not to watch his muscles flex with each movement. But he was still sitting across from her in just Jake’s old shorts.
“I could see if I have a larger T-shirt?” she blurted out. She watched his eyebrows rise up a little. Then he looked down and frowned.
“I didn’t want to get blood on your boyfriend’s stuff,” he mumbled.
“He’s not... We’re no longer together.” She couldn’t connect with his eyes, so instead, she watched his hands as he picked up his bowl.
“You don’t have to clean up.” She quickly stood to grab the bowl and spoon from him, but he moved it up high above his head.
“I may have never had a family or a place of my own, but I know how to clean up after myself.”
She dropped her hands to her side and frowned at him.
“You didn’t have a family?”
He blinked a few times and just looked back at her.
“The bike gang was my only family.” He set the bowl in the sink. “The gang and your dad.” He walked back and sat down at the table once more.
She set her bowl next to his and then went and sat across from him, tucking her legs underneath herself and wrapping her arms around them.
“And?”
He signed and looked at her. “Let’s just say, I know exactly why they want me dead. Actually...” He tilted his head and squinted his eyes slightly. “Tony mentioned something about taking me back to pay. So, I’m pretty sure there are others wanting to pay me back as well.”
She leaned closer and bumped her knees against the table. Reaching out, she steadied it. “Back? Back where?” She waited.
“Home.” The word came out in a sarcastic half laugh.
“Where is home?” she asked.
“I have no home.” His voice had grown darker.
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Home base for the Lone Outlaws,” he said and she shivered at the name of her father’s motorcycle gang. He noticed and turned his lips upward in an almost sneer. “You should fear them.” He nodded slightly. “I do.” He closed his eyes and rested his head back. “Home base is just outside of Miami.”
She frowned. “Dad always said...” When he sat up and watched her, she shook her head and stopped talking.
“What?” He leaned on the table, trying to get closer.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She rested back.
“Willa, if you know something.”
She stood up quickly and looked down at him. “I told you, don’t call me that. Only he called me that.” She walked over to the sink and started washing the dishes that had piled up. She needed something to do with her hands.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was right behind her. When his hands rested on her shoulders, she jumped a little and spun around. Her wet, soapy hands splashed on his chest.
She glared up at him. For some reason, the fact that this stranger knew more about her father than she did really set her off.
“Tell me more.” She turned back to finish the dishes, feeling the need to finish her task. “How did you meet him?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the countertop next to her. “I delivered a package to him.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “A package?”
“Drugs,” he said flatly. “To him and the gang.”
“How old were you?” She was beginning to doubt his story. After all, she’d been two months’ shy of her tenth birthday when her father had died. There was no way he was more than five years older than her.
“A week after my thirteenth birthday.” He turned his head and looked out into her living room. “Back then, they had a standing rule.” He closed his eyes and she could tell he was remembering. “No messengers survived.”
“What?” She almost dropped the dish she was drying.
“Like I said, you should fear them.”
She shook her head. “I find it hard to believe that my father...”
He took the dish and the towel from her and took her shoulders into his hands. “No, like I said, your father saved me.”
“I don’t...”
“Willa... Willow, sit down.” He started to move them towards the sofa, but she stopped him.
“Are you telling me that my father was friends with killers?”
“No, what I’m telling you is that he was a member of a gang who were—are—killers.”
She reached up and touched her forehead, feeling even more of a headache spread. “I’m not following you.”
He let out a deep breath and then nodded to the sofa. “Sit.”
She crossed her arms over her chest in defiance, but she knew that the only way to get the whole story from him was to give him what he wanted. Walking over, she sat near the end of the sofa and tucked her feet up underneath her.
She thought he would come and sit next to her, but instead, he walked over to her sliding doors and peeked out the heavy curtains. He stood there for a few moments while she waited. He was trying her patience. She was just about to jump up and demand that he start talking, when he turned around.
“I was born in a small town just outside of Vegas. My mother was a whore and from the moment she conceived me, she did everything in her power to get rid of me. Short of murder. Needless to say, when I was nine, I was picked up by the police, and she took that as a sign that I should be on my own. I was doing okay, living on the streets of Vegas, until the night a guy on a bike asked if I wanted to make a thousand bucks just for delivering a package.”
She tensed, knowing what was coming.
“Well, as you can guess it, it was too good to be true. From what I understand, the group liked to bring kids into the gang. If they said no... Well, you can guess why they had me deliver clear out in the desert.”
She shivered and hugged her legs closer to her. “My father?” Her voice was low as a million images flashed into her mind.
“No. Or so he said, and the years I was with him, I never saw...” He shook his head. “No.”
She took a deep breath and released it. Well, at least there was that, she thought as she closed her eyes.
“Hey.” His voice was right in front of her. He’d moved across the room without her even knowing it. Now he was on his knees in front of her. His hands reaching out for hers. “Your father was a good guy. Honest.”
She swallowed the disgust that had lodged in her throat and nodded. “Go on.”
He moved to sit next to her. “Billy took me in, like I was his own. He taught me things. Everything actually.” He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down her back. It wasn’t fear this time, but something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Then, when he left...” He turned his eyes back to the patio door. “I left too.”
“Where did you go? What did you do?” she asked.
He turned sad eyes to her and said, “Everywhere, anything... Places to see, people to meet.”